A Swimmer's Lament

Charlie swimming blissfully like a little otter on a hot summer day. The Rangitikei not far from where it rolls out of the Ruahine.

Evening 25 Jan. 2012 - Charlie and I have just returned from the swimming pool at his school a few doors down from our house. We have a key over the summer holiday so after coming home from work on a very hot afternoon we headed down for a wee dip before dinner. As we swam and played I couldn't help but let my mind drift a bit to the mountains, and how on a long summers day, and sometimes even in the midst of winter if a staunch enough challenge is issued, the deep green tinted clear depths of a Ruahine mountain river pool prove so alluring. Perhaps I am spoiled by my time amongst the rivers, but the chilling embrace and the tingling of flesh and spirit afterwards are far more refreshing there than in the tepid waters of a city swimming pool.

Some days you get lucky enough to spend the whole day just meandering up and down the river, looking for the best pools to be embraced by. Above is the Pourangaki river, a ways down from the hut on a stretch with fast water and big pools. That, plus a hot day, adds up to loads of fun! We certainly do not have to worry about being thirsty.

John on the Kawhatau river on another brilliant summer day. Don't be fooled! Days like this are really very rare in the mountains, so when you get one it is best to grab onto it and relish each second. It is good to be reminded of such simple pleasures.

The Waikamaka river on possibly the finest summer day I have personally spent in the Ruahine in my near 20 years of being amongst them. The river was low, travel was easy, the sun was shining, and it was hot. Normally a dip into any mountain river is relatively chilly proposition and the stay in equally short. On this day the normally frosty reception negated by the heat and the days labour to arrive here. To sit in a mountain river in natures very own whirlpool was just simply a luxury. This is living!

A different scenario. A different time of year. But look at that pool just calling out. Nigel, well dressed to ward off the winter chill gazing into the lovely depths. Soon after I observed this scene I took off my clothes and crossed the river just down from the pool. I climbed onto that moss covered rock on the other side, braced myself, and jumped in. It was well over my head and like jumping into ice water. I emerged very quickly yelling and screaming and completely alive! I have no photo to verify this, well I do, but this was back in the age of film, and I did not convert that one to digital. You will have to trust me.

"I meet the Tukituki"
 No webbed feet or even talons
grip this moss covered greywacke
as I brace myself quite ungracefully
above the rivers song
I look to my mate for reassurance
none is forth coming except
anticipation of his own pleasure
Too late to back out now
I release myself of my clumsy perch
and for a brief exalting moment
hover above my doom
and plunge into the deep embrace
down into the clear darkening depths
familiar and welcoming
part of me wanting to remain
yet emerge I do bellowing
laughing and crying out for joy
My friend smiles and shakes his head
I dress and we go back down the river
I keep looking back
-written at Barlow hut 2004

Waterfall creek. No way out now!

John not long after me. It is an awesome pool.

Charlie carrying on the tradition of enjoying the rivers. Closer to home, and in the Tararua's but he has already done his share of Ruahine "swimming". Love the look on his face as he scrambles to get out of the late winter water.

Aroha,
Robb

The Summer Tour that Never Was

Early Jan. 2012
 I sit here alone just above Sunrise hut, over looking the Waipawa valley, the Three Johns, and Te Atua Para Para. To the northwest lies Armstrong saddle and the route into my intended destination, the Maropea valley. But for now I am content to just sit here in the rare quiet stillness of this moment.

It is early evening and having climbed up and finding Sunrise hut empty, a luxury as it's 22 bunks and gas heater usually have someone, if not several people in residence. My preference is to add another hour or so to the day and cross over the saddle to Top Maropea, perhaps my favourite spot in all the Ruahine, but the lateness of the day, the empty hut, and being able to sit amongst this view when normally the wind dominates the scene, simply makes me pour myself a wee dram and relax, the days work done.

It feels somewhat as if the Ruahine are welcoming me, and understanding my reluctance and hesitation to even be here better than I do myself. A solo trip always brings out these feelings, but I also have a few lingering family issues which hang low over me like the onimous steely grey clouds descending upon this valley. I feel almost a sense of unease.  To sit here in the quiet hazy silence of an early mountain evening is a rare and distinct pleasure. I have, literally, fought for my life out there. And there she lies before me. Calm. Temptress.

Waipawa valley, the Three Johns, dipping low in the middle is Waipawa Saddle which separates Waipawa valley from the headwaters of the Waikamaka valley. On the right is the flank of the centerpiece of the area Te Autoaparapara.

The sun sets on Armstrong saddle and Patiki to the far right.

The sun fades on Te Atuaoparapara.

Evening: A breeze has picked up from the northwest, which is never a good sign. I may have missed my window to get across the saddle. But what will be will be. Why is it so easy to understand here that I can control what I can control, the weather not being one of those? Yet outside here I so often worry about what I cannot control in others, especially those I love dearly. There is a freedom in that which I struggle with. This evening my choice has been made, all the ramifications of that will be revealed soon enough.

Looking to the east and the plains of Hawkes Bay in the evening light.

To the north east and the far off Parks Peak ridge, an old familiar Ruahine place as well.

Following Day: Still here! In the night I was awoken by a shaking of the hut by gusting wind and then the sound of torrential rain on the tin roof. All I could do was roll over and nestle deeper into my down sleeping bag. The wind has been howling all day long, and having crossed the exposed saddle some 40 times I KNOW when to simply stay put. These are gale force winds and there is nothing for it but to just put the billy on for another cup of tea.
I have been thinking about my son Taylor. One of the reasons I wanted to traverse this area is I feel a sense of unfinished business in the Maropea valley from our last trip here some 7 months ago. Taylor wandered ahead while I stopped to photograph and observe a pair of whio on the river. Somehow he wandered right past Maropea Forks and continued down the river. I could not find him, and I spent the loneliest night of my life in the warm hut while Taylor shivered some place on the wintry cold mountain river. The next day the mountains returned him to me, but this time it is not the mountains he is lost in. I love him.

Tupare - or leatherwood. A hearty alpine shrub and tree which withstands the howling gales, rain, sleet, snow, and winter cold to thrive and grow, and even find beauty in such unforgiving terrain. Like the heart of any parent.

Evening: The wind howls even fiercer. I have trouble standing even in the relative protected shelter of the hollow where the hut sits. I know I would stand no chance of standing, much less moving on the exposed open tops a few metres away. The hut shakes and moans frightfully, and all I can do is trust in the sturdy construction and the guy wires which lash it to the ground. It is quite a storm. I will wait till morning and see if by some chance the wind abates and I can move. If not I will retreat back down the mountain and live to try another day.

Sunrise hut. When I first came here in 1993 it was a very small unimposing 6 bunk hut. Now it sleeps 22. It is anchored into the ground with a series of guy wires at the corners. I was thankful for that. It is hard to capture wind in a photo, but trust me, to walk from the hut to where I was standing was a struggle.

Aside from the near vertical mist and cloud rolling across, the indication of how strong the wind was can be seen by the tussock grass which is blown straight over. It too is a hearty rugged alpine plant well adapted to this environment. It just goes with the flow.

Morning : Still howling and raining, and I am retreating down the mountain and home. I am okay with that, as it is always these hills that hold the final say, and even if I was only here for a brief interlude and not what I expected, at least I was here at all. I will return.

Down into the forest and home.
I end this meandering post with a poem by Sam Hunt, one of my favourite New Zealand poets. He captures the essence of what I was feeling, and how I felt up there in that storm on my summer trip that never was.

'Rangitikei Riversong"
A man can only
 find himself when lost
Such country, this,
 where all men are lonely
plateau, hawk, and rivermist

country where a man at last
might lose himself, an end of talk
find that gaunt faced other
man who stalks these ridges
plateau, rivermist, and hawk

no longer keeping eye
for crumbling edges
lovers or the weather
Listening, rather, to the river:
hawk and high plateau
rivermist below
                             Sam Hunt - Selected Poems

Mauri Ora!

Whanahuia Ora

11/11/11 Whanahuia range of the Ruahine - evening

A stunning campsite on the Whanahuia range on a lovely evening. John Nash and I climbed to the tops and Rangiwahia hut in the early afternoon and rather inclement weather. Late in the day the weather cleared and we quickly decided to pack up and head further up the range towards Mangahuia and camp. Our decision was validated by finding this small piece of flat gravel in the tussock. Just enough for our tent and a little room to sit, which is all we need. We are on the north side of the range looking into the valley know as Venison Gully and across to Deadman's Ridge with an unnamed stream running far below, we can listen to the muttering song up high.

We are being treated to one of the more spectacular sunsets I have been privileged to be part of in my time traveling in the Ruahine. The tussock is lit up to golden brown, then fiery red, in the distance the sun duels with the cloud and mist, treating us to a new vista like clicking through natures own digital camera in real time, and a slow moving bank of smokey cloud moves up the valley reminding us of a maunga taniwha as it crawls up the stream below poking and probing each gut and gully, then retreating back to the flat lands far below. John and I just sit here in the quiet silence of the mountains saying little even though we have not seen one another in some time.  Sometimes more is said not saying anything at all.

John earlier in the afternoon as we set up our little camp. Looking south east towards Mangahuia in the distance.

Settling in with a wee dram and the sunset.

The show begins.

Just a bit above our camp looking west toward the setting sun.

Looking down into Oroua valley the following day. Our destination, Triangle hut is a small red dot almost in the middle of the photo. A lovely spot, and though we could see it, was still many hours away.

Resting by a snow tarn as we make our way north before steeply heading down through the mud and treacherous footing down to the forest and the hut. A good place to refill our water bottles and have a snack before pressing on. A good place period.

Finally down into the high forest after a long battle with the descent. The sun came out and with still another hour or so very steeply down to the river time for some lunch (bagels, cheese, tomato, onion, and salami for me as John is a vegetarian), then a bit of a nap before pressing onwards. What's the hurry?

12/11/11 Triangle hut late afternoon
The rain gently patters on the tin roof, droplets drip slowly off the porch overhang as the Oroua river flows by. A cacophony of water surrounds us. I have seen, I have listened to this, many times before at this very spot, but it is always new, always different. I feel like I am home.
 John sleeps in his down bag as he was not feeling well today, another reason to take it slow and easy on the tops and down through the kaikawaka and tawhairaunui. I made John a few cups of tea and some hot soup and he was already feeling better, and what better spot to curl up in and dream. Sleep well e hoa!
So I have been just sitting here listening, brewing cups of tea in the billy, smiling and laughing. Gathered wood for the stove, and reflected on our day of traveling in the Ruahine. Mostly just smiling. This is my 9th visit here over the years. The hut book goes back to 2004 and the third entry is by John and I. It is barely a third full, so this is a place that is rarely visited, and being here 9 times in an honour I an humbled by. Pohangina Pete's name is here, as are a few others I have come to know in my time in these mountains. My time grows short, so moments like this take on even greater clarity and significance. One day I will be here forever.

John by the stone gorge a short meander up the river from the hut. The whole of the Oroua pours through this gorge, as can be seen by the place John stands. In 2004 the Oroua out on the flat lands flooded through rain up in here and caused untold millions of dollars in damage. The mountains are built for that. What is now farmland used to be "built" for that when it was just bush and forest. Now cleared and "productive" we blame Nature. This very spot tells a huge story.

Triangle hut just in the left side. In the hut book I found a poem I wrote back in 2008, my last visit here. One where I got stuck for 2 days when the river came up through incessant rain, and I sat watched the droplets fall off the porch.

"Hut day at Triangle"

I have used this day to my fullest ability
have run through the rain to use the facility
except in the course of that little caper
neglected to bring the toilet paper
I've chopped wood and stacked it quite high
more than enough for the next man by
sat on the porch just quietly thinking
about how many cups of tea I've been drinking
Rivulets of water drip down from the roof
offering me final and total proof
That a day spent here all toasty and warm
beats the hell out of being out there in that storm
21/12/08

Inside Triangle hut early evening.

Cooking tea. Fresh tomato, red onion and garlic, simmered to a sauce with tarragon and and a smidgen of rosemary, then served over pasta. Really roughing it!

13 November very early morning Triangle hut:
I sit on the porch with a strong mug of coffee and start to watch the mountain morning unfold. These are the days when John and I really have learned how to excel. A day of doing nothing with the whole day to do it. And feel no guilt, or remorse, or regret. To just have enjoyed these moments as much as we possibly can. Yet by the end of this day, the wood boxes will be full to over flowing, the hut cleaned, all the excess rubbish stuffed into bags we will carry out, which amounts to not much  here thankfully and gratefully. We will have walked up river and down, maybe even have tried to climb up some unexamined spur, (though I doubt that). And soon enough I shall be back sitting in this very spot as the sun passes over this valley far sooner than it does on the tops we camped upon. John and I will sit here with something stronger than this coffee in our tin mugs, and we will wonder where the day has gone.

Evening inside Triangle hut - The wood stove creaks and moans as it comes to life. Candle light accentuates, softens, and adds dignity to the already apparent charms of this back country hut as the sun sets on our second evening here on the Oroua river. Neither John or I were concerned with packing up and going anywhere today, particularly with the rain up here a fairly good indicator conditions would not be too pleasant up there. The frantic rushing we used to do, the 8, 9, 10 hour days on the go, the huge endless climbs and descents are for younger legs. At 51 and with a new hip I am content to stay here in spots I love so much and let them fold over me, and enjoy them on their own intimate terms. Like sitting in the high forests quietly and being absorbed by them, and in that stillness see the real forest revealed, so it is too by the rivers - the fact this charming little hut is here an added bonus. My legs are older indeed, but here my heart sings and my soul is young.

Back along the tops of the Whanahuia.

We had to stop on the tops to don warmer gear, but once we turned out of the wind it became calm and still once again. We stopped in the tussock for lunch and a lie down. The cloud rose up in the distance and revealed Te Hekenga, the first time we had seen it on this trip.

14/11/11 Rangi hut - evening. The sunsets in a brilliant show once again, just as it sets on this mountain experience. In the morning a 3 hour walk or so will bring us back to the car and soon back to the world. Though right now here in this moment that seems a long time away and we are content to linger here in the foolishness of things a while more.

15/11/11 morning - Ruapehu, Ngarahoe, and Tongariro, the volcanoes, shimmer in the distance. Taranaki glimmered further to the southwest as well, forced to flee there after fighting with Tongariro for the affection of the beautiful Pihanga. It is said that when Taranaki is covered in cloud it is weeping for it's lost love. It weeps often. I understand how he feels. As I get ready to head down this mountain I miss the Ruahine already.

Kia ora John, Kia ora Whanahuia, Kia ora Ruahine.
Aroha,
Robb

Matariki Huna Nui

             
A Ruahine forest dripping with vibrant energy and force, glistening with Life as the filtering sunlight argues with the swirling cloud above, the forest floor simply sighing as the argument continues, the rich musty aroma of the earth intoxicates my senses. The light and moisture illuminate my path as if I were part of a painting. The pull gets stronger and I must return to this place. My pack and boots await. Soon.

For me, this very place is where a strong part of the soul of the Ruahine resides. This deep part of the forest which has tapped me gently upon the shoulder stronger each time until I finally stopped and Listened, and felt it inside, drank it all in with every part of my being. To implore me to let go of my humanness, and to rather just embrace being part of Everything. As close to any religion or of any God as I will ever get. I was just there with a cheap camera, an observer, yet part of, this incredible scene. The hand of Papatuanuku Herself is at work here. It is almost too much for the eye to take in and process without allowing our very selves to enter it as part of each tiny molecule. It is a place that now draws me closer each time I pass by and spend moments here. And in spite of the relative permanence of the forest itself, the mood and ambiance are forever fluid, much like the whole of this land called Aotearoa. In the Te Ika a Maui, Aotearoa ( the North Island of Aotearoa), the Ruahine was one of the first land masses to nudge her head above the safety of the sea. So the ancient, ethereal feel comes from those earliest moments. I feel like I belong to them.

(Kia ora and aroha to my wild kindred soul Robin Easton for suggesting I expand a mere observation into words about this Matariki huna nui that envelopes my being. She understands.)
Aroha,
Robb
                                                                                                                                                                                

Ripoinga (memoirs)

I am caught up in a busy period of work, and it will be at least 3 more weeks till I can get out into the mountains for a bit of Quiet Solitude. I found myself dreaming of the mountains on this rather cloudy and grey spring day, and dug out my little note books which has notes, poems (such as I interpet them :)), observations, and ramblings from every trip I have done in the Ruahine going back to 1998 when I started toting them along with me. So to connect me with a place I love so much I am using this exercise to share some of those moments here. Enjoy! Above John overlooks the headwaters of the Mangatera valley from the flanks of Te Atua Mahuru.

28 Sept. 2001 The Hikurangi's in the Ruahine. Somewhere along the ridge to McKinnon hut.
I am now snug in my tent on the open tops of the Hikurangi's, the only range in the Ruahine I have not been until now. A solo trip, and one I felt I needed to refresh my soul. I feel a bit battered with the recent attacks upon the Twin Towers and the inevitable places that will take the world, a few rough patches with work, and most of all trying to be a father and husband as best I can. So I took a few days off and headed up here on a rainy cold afternoon. My pack felt very heavy with 4 days supplies and my new tent attached as I began climbing the very steep spur up from the Kawhatau river to the open tops. I felt tired and sleepy and just wanted to quit and come home yet something in me just kept plugging away, step by step, and as I could see the forest changing to the higher alpine growth my confidence ebbed back slowly, and finally I arrived at the tops. Only to find them shrouded in cloud, mist and wind, and though the route is poled I had difficulty seeing anything beyond 20 metres or so. I carried on until it started to get too dark, and me too tired, and I found a spot in the lee side of the tussock and pitched my new tent. Everything seems nice and snug as I write this by headlamp, the wind rushes up in gusts but all seems secure. No hot meal this evening and I wish I would have brought more water. Feeling a bit better, a test of my mental toughness to get here. I am truly cloud hidden.

29 September 2001 Crow Hut.
Yesterday seems like a lifetime ago. I sit here now listening to the song of the Kawhatau river below the hut, the sky an amazing blue, the sun warm and comforting, and the doubts and worries I felt yesterday washed off like the grime of hard work when I dove into the bracingly ice cold pool below. I awoke to very gusty winds and driving rain just before daybreak. I quickly packed up and headed along the ridge towards McKinnon, picking my way through the cloud pole to pole up to the high point of 1645 metres. Then steeply down to McKinnon where I arrived to the empty hut just after 8:00a.m. Glad to to be there! It is in a very cool location sheltered below the Hikurangis and with the Kawhatau valley below and the Mokai patea to the north, and the main Ruahine range across to the east, the view is spectacular. Though I had refilled my water bottle in the lake size tarn I still drank deeply from the water tank, then set about cooking up a huge breakfast. 4 eggs, 2 potatoes, 3 rashers of bacon, 1 onion, garlic, and chunks of cheddar cheese - hopple popple, cook the onion and garlic, then the potatoes, then the bacon, then crack the eggs on top, and when just set, add the cheese and cover till melted. Salt and pepper to taste and Yum! I ate the lot. The big camp oven here at the hut worked a treat.
I then relaxed by crawling into my sleeping bag, reading my book, then feel asleep as the wind howled overhead and the rain beat upon the tin roof. I awoke just before noon to complete silence. And when I opened the door of the hut to look outside was almost blinded by the brilliant sunshine, blue sky, and stillness all around, not a breath of wind. Just an incredible turn of events from struggling across the tops a few hours earlier. I packed up while having a few strong coffees and then began the steep drop to the Kawhatau river and Crow hut. The forest just hummed and glowed with energy and the sunlight filtering through the trees and bush just astounded my senses with overwhelming shades of green everywhere. Soon the river came muttering into my descent and before I knew it I was sitting beside the crystal clear water slaking my thirst. So I have now spent a glorious afternoon at Crow hut, drying my gear, setting up my tent to dry out, and just standing and gazing out toward Rongotea which looms over the valley and watching the afternoon light play on her flanks and golden tops. I dove into the cold water and howled with joy, and I sat there shivering with joy and letting the sun warm me a whio flew by. A perfect day.

Cloud and mist shroud the Kawhatau valley. On the Mokai Patea climbing out of Crow hut.

28 December 2005 - Waterfall hut
What an amazing day, full of fun, adventure, woe, decisions,validation, and as always in the Ruahine, great beauty. John and I left McKinnon hut in very good conditions early this morning, climbed up to Huikurangi (1701m), then onto Mangaweka, the highest point in the entire Rauhine range. It all involves a bit of route finding, tussock bashing, and climbing, but on a clear still day such as this it presents no real issues. John and I have seen no one for three days and we stood alone upon Mangaweka and relished the views in all directions. We decided to descend via what we thought was Iron Peg creek, and the day being fine and feeling good we happily scampered down the steep tussock and slid down into the creek. Only to soon find we had picked the wrong creek, one between Trig and Iron Peg, and there was nothing for it now but to follow it down. We spent over two hours climbing out onto sheer tupare and Spaniard covered cliffs and bluffs to avoid waterfalls, other times simply climbing down through falls and down through the slippery steep creek, removing our packs and lowering them with the rope. It was dicey nerve wracking stuff, a place where one wrong step could have meant real trouble. When the creek finally leveled out a bit then met with the real Iron Peg creek I flopped down beside John and we didn't say anything, just sat there. We didn't have to, we both knew we had been very fortunate to extract ourselves from a dangerous situation. More lessons learned. Glad to be at Waterfall hut, wee dram in hand for a quiet celebration.

23 April 2004 Pourangaki hut
 I am feeling very content in this moment in the Ruahine. Quite happy with a solo day traversing these mountains off the beaten track, across two ranges, to arrive here safely. For me, that is a big deal, to find a level of confidence to do that, and today it all clicked, it all felt right, made sense. It has taken me 10 years to feel that here in the mountains, so I feel like it was a big breakthrough. I needed to expand my boundaries. Since Nigel has moved to Korea it is either find other people to tramp with, don't tramp, or go by myself. I am learning to enjoy being on my own in the mountains very much, and I am not so sure that I take more risk on my own than with someone else. With others, such as Nigel and John, I can rely on their experience, or get a false sense of security in numbers, where as on my own it is all on me. In the mountains that is a big deal. I have seen no one for 3 days, which surprises me as a few deer are still roaring, but that suits me well. When I arrived here there was a hind in back of the clearing by the hut and she quietly disappeared into the thick forest, and shortly after a Karearea, or native New Zealand falcon flew over. Good signs.

One of the pleasures of winter travel in the Ruahine!!

"The wind plays notes on every branch, and flutters each leaf
she misses not one
water adds a chorous, the unrelenting droplets of rain like shiny baubles
from the sky
Splattering, Hissing, Dripping
onto the forest floor
joined by the quiet plops from off the lush green bush
Then the crescendo of the raging river deafens me
brown, dirty, angry, dominating
until I climb away from her again
The symphony of the stormy mountain forest
overwhelms my senses and fills me with joy
with the sheer wildness of it all
remote responsibility for myself
The mountain hut lies ahead
sanctuary, warmth, dry clothes, billy to boil
Yet the rain will still bounce upon the roof
and outside the river will still sing".

Nigel, John, Robb, somewhere between Longview and Howlett's on the main range.

Aroha,
Robb

Manuhiri

I am not from this place. I came from elsewhere, drawn to some vague definition of "responsibility", but also an unexplained deep urge within that called to me. As a young boy my grandfather gave me a huge hard covered book of Life Magazine photos and snippets of the world from the 1950's. There was one photo that always stirred something within me, it was a photo of New Zealand, so beautiful and so calling. The place that photo was "taken" is not so very far from where I write these words. There was also a comfort in the photo and accompanying caption that this was a very English world, so they spoke, more or less, like me, and thought, more or less, like me. I was only 8.
When I came here, I discovered a place, in the above photo, that held true all the things I felt as a kid back in Green Bay, Wisconsin. But what has become also true, is that this is not my place. The land, the earth herself (Papatuanuku) has a hold on me and an ancient connection I am still struggling to understand, but the place, the original human inhabitants of this place, were not me, or of me. The mountains above which I love and honour were traversed and used by Maori, the original people, and most peaks, features, and rivers reflect that truth. It does not demean or lessen what I am finding in these mountains, the Ruahine, it only enhances us all. Why is that so difficult for so many people to acknowledge? So for me, a white immigrant to a far away land which I love, New Zealand has become Aotearoa.

"On the porch at Maropea Forks" - July 2002
The rain patters on the tin roof
drumming her song, the endless symphony
of the river joins the chorous
These echoes have called me often
So I Listen
to this ancient music once again
Alone
not lonely
Intensely fullfilled
The fear I have felt in my solitude is real
This is a Path filled with potentail woe
Yet here I am in the bosom
of this place
I am Home

Rangimarie